


No Other Hand

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e04 The End, Future Castiel, Future Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place a few years before Season 5 episode "The End," after the Croatoan virus is taking hold and Dean's in full survival mode... almost. He has one thing left to take care of: letting go of his baby.</p><p>Though there's nothing overtly Dean/Castiel in this fic, I mean, let's be honest. It's <i>Castiel</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Other Hand

Dean braced a hip on the front fender of the Impala, arms crossed against the chill of the night. He wasn't really looking at anything, because there wasn't anything to look at. It was just a field. Some trees. A handful of houses and a big tent city full of refugees, lit up like lanterns in the dark.

The Impala's engine ticked as it cooled, the soft metal static a touchpoint throughout Dean's life. He unfolded his arms, ran a hand down the warm metal, and pushed away from the car. No goodbyes this time. Every time he'd said goodbye to his baby, it was with the thought that eventually, he'd pull the tarp off again. But this time, he didn't bother with a tarp. The weeds would grow up around her and she'd rust, and her interior would rot. She'd never move from this spot again.

Dean grabbed his sentimental notions about the car - some of the last sentimental notions he had, period - with both hands, and ruthlessly ripped them out. Gas was scarce. She didn't have heavy enough armor to withstand gunfire. Her windows were too large and too fragile. She could only carry six people, tops. The Impala was a liability, not the indestructible tank he'd imagined in his childhood.

Two steps away, Dean realized he'd put the keys in his pocket; their soft jingle when he walked gave them away. He halted, tugged them out, and looked at them.

Dean at the beginning would have said 'fuck it,' gotten in his baby and driven it back to camp, defending his decision against all comers as 'you wouldn't understand.'

Dean just after Sam said yes to Lucifer might have made a symbolic gesture of heaving the keys away into the dark.

Dean let the keys slip from his fingers with disinterest.

They hit the dirt, silenced by the soft earth, and he walked back to camp.

  


* * *

A few minutes after Dean's footsteps receded, Castiel approached the spot where he'd stood. He took in the sleek lines of the doomed vehicle, observing it as thoroughly as he'd observed everything for eons until Dean and Sam sharpened his focus.

His power was minimal now. Heaven - Heaven had stopped speaking months ago. Every time he healed a bullet wound, or a broken leg, or rescued Dean from the virus taking hold around them, he felt his power trickling more and more away. There was a children's religious song about a bucket with a hole, Castiel was sure, although he couldn't remember the words.

Castiel had too much respect for Dean, for all he'd sacrificed, to defy the man's decision. He could feel the desperation and loneliness creeping up on him, and he knew it wouldn't be long now before his sanity slipped sideways, as Anna's had in her human form.

So this would be the last gesture of the being known as Castiel. Pressing his palm to the little tangle of metal, Castiel pushed the keys deep into the earth, where they could never be found. Never be taken by another. He rose, put his hand on the topmost curve of the door, and closed his eyes.

The Impala was a machine. It had no soul, although it had taken on the energy of its occupants. Touching it, Castiel could see the tattered ghosts of boys, and men, in a time when a trunk full of weapons was enough to save the world.

But that time had passed. The Impala as a weapon had been outclassed, and Cass was no angel, anymore.

 _But you and I,_ Cass thought at it, as if it could hear him, _we won't belong to anyone else._

And then he, too, walked back to camp.

Behind him, the Impala settled into silence.


End file.
